


prodrome

by remy (iamremy)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: (i let them say fuck), Banter and Humor, Canon Compliant, Discussions of sexuality, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, coping with loss, mentions of House and Wilson, the team making silly bets as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Prodrome (n.)- an early sign or symptom that indicates the onset of a disease or illness, before there are any diagnostically specific symptoms present.[In the months following House's "death" and Wilson's departure from PPTH, Foreman and Chase grow close.There's only really one direction this can go in.]
Relationships: Robert Chase/Eric Foreman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	prodrome

**Author's Note:**

> this entire fic is nothing but an experiment in self-indulgence, let's be real here. i've rewatched the hell out of house md in quarantine, especially seasons 6 and 8, and then i just HAD to write this. i've always thought foreman/chase has a lot of potential as a ship, and this is me exploring that, basically.
> 
> i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!

“Well, well, look who’s here.”

Foreman looks up just as Chase puts his tray down on the table and then slides into the seat across from him. “Came down for the powdered donuts,” he tells Chase. “Had a sudden craving.”

“They’re good, right?” Chase agrees enthusiastically. He takes a bite of his sandwich. “I think Tracey puts cocaine in them or something. You can’t have just one.”

Foreman looks down at the three donuts on his plate. “Yeah.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, surrounded by the ambient noises of the cafeteria at lunchtime. Foreman finishes one donut and begins on the second, taking care not to get powdered sugar on his suit. Chase finishes his sandwich and starts sipping his coffee, because he’s a heathen who has it cold.

“So how’s your first week as boss going?” Foreman asks.

“Boring,” Chase tells him with a groan. “No cases so far. ER’s got nothing, either. Dunno how House did it, honestly.”

“Well, he found other ways to occupy his time,” Foreman replies with a snort.

Chase smiles a little at that, and then they lapse into silence again. Foreman’s thinking about House, and Chase is too, it seems. His smile has faded into a sad sort of expression, eyes fixed on his empty plate and the fingers of one hand tapping against his coffee cup - a nervous habit he’s had for as long as Foreman’s known him.

“You know it’s just us now,” he says quietly.

Chase looks up. “What?”

“Me and you, we’re all that’s left of the original team,” Foreman clarifies. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Chase says thoughtfully. “Kinda bittersweet, innit?”

Foreman nods.

“Wonder how Wilson’s holding up,” Chase continues. “Maybe we should go check in on him-”

“No need,” Foreman tells him. “Left town.”

Chase blinks, surprised. “What, really? When?”

“Soon after House’s funeral,” Foreman replies.

“He called you?” Chase looks a little hurt at the notion that Foreman could’ve received a call and not him.

“Nah. Texted.”

Chase relaxes a little at that. “Man, I’m gonna miss him,” he says. He looks sad again. “Can’t believe that in a few months, he’ll be-” He stops abruptly. “Well. You know.”

They’d been friends, Foreman knows. Not on the same level as Wilson and House, of course, or even Chase and Foreman, but they’d enjoyed each other’s company enough to indulge in it outside of work occasionally.

“Tell you what,” he says suddenly. “You got time, right?”

Chase nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “What’s up?”

“Come up to my office,” Foreman says. “Got something to show you.”

“What?” Chase asks, now looking curious.

“I’ll show you,” Foreman replies. “Soon as I finish this donut-”

“What donut?” asks Chase innocently, and sure enough, it’s somehow been moved from Foreman’s plate to Chase’s.

“You little thief,” Foreman says, eyes narrowed.

“What?” Chase asks, unaffected, and then takes a hearty bite out of the donut. “They’re really, _really_ good,” he tells Foreman, mouth full.

“Shut your mouth when you’re eating,” Foreman sighs, giving up. He’ll get himself more donuts later, when Chase isn’t around to commit theft.

Chase finishes the donut in under a minute and then cleans powdered sugar off his hands with a napkin. “‘Kay, let’s go,” he says, standing. “What did you wanna show me?”

Foreman doesn’t know why he’s suddenly decided to do this. It’s probably got something to do with the look on Chase’s face when they’d discussed House and Wilson. He knows House cared about Chase, in his own weird way, and that Chase looked up to him. Maybe this will help Chase feel less alone.

Or maybe Foreman’s tired of carrying this on his own.

He strides over to his desk and pulls open the first drawer. “Here,” he says, sliding House’s ID across the desk to Chase, who’s sprawled in a chair on the other side.

“House’s ID?” Chase picks it up and frowns down at it.

“You know that little table that keeps wobbling?” Foreman says, tilting his head towards the table in question.

“Yeah, you complain about it _endlessly,_ ” Chase replies with a crooked grin. 

“I found this under the wobbly leg,” Foreman explains, ignoring the jab. “My first day back to work after his funeral. He knew I’d been annoyed about that table.”

“I don’t get it,” Chase says after a pause.

“How could it have gotten there after the funeral?” Foreman questions. “I know it wasn’t there before.”

Chase frowns again, humming thoughtfully as he turns the ID over in his hands. “So you’re saying… that House put it there.”

Foreman nods.

“But it only got there after his funeral.”

Foreman nods again.

“But that’d mean…”

“Yeah,” says Foreman.

“No _way,_ ” is Chase’s vehement response.

“That was my first thought too,” Foreman admits. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“ _How_?” Chase asks now, eyes wide. He looks stunned. “I mean - you _saw_ it happen, there was a body, I mean, we were at the funeral!”

“It’s _House,_ ” Foreman says, like that explains everything. It kind of does. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have figured out a way.”

“Why though?” demands Chase, gripping the ID tight. “I mean, faking his own death? Why would he do something that extreme?”

“Wilson,” says Foreman simply.

“Wilson?” repeats Chase.

“He was looking at a six-month jail sentence,” Foreman says, “and Wilson only has five months. This is House’s solution to the problem.”

“So Wilson resigning and skipping town… he’s with House?” Now Chase looks awed.

“My guess is as good as yours, but I’d bet on it,” Foreman replies.

Chase slumps in his chair. “All that drama, wow. You think he attended his own funeral?”

Foreman snorts. “Possibly. We’ll never know.”

“He watched us go up there and say nice things about him,” Chase says. “Bet he got a good laugh out of that.”

“Asshole,” Foreman says, but he’s grinning, and Chase is too.

“I’m… honestly not as surprised as I should be,” Chase says after a couple of minutes. “Glad he’s not dead, but not surprised that he faked it, really.”

“You didn’t think he’d stay for his job?” Foreman asks, surprised.

Chase shakes his head. “Nah. You could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, towards the end. You know? The puzzles weren’t as fun anymore, it wasn’t satisfying, and he didn’t really care.”

“He was preoccupied with Wilson,” Foreman points out.

“Yep,” agrees Chase. “So it makes sense, doesn’t it? All of this.” He taps the ID against Foreman’s desk.

“In House’s typical, twisted way, yes,” Foreman replies. “Do you wanna keep that?”

“What, this?” Chase looks down at the ID, and then holds it out to Foreman. “Nah. Already got his office and that red ball he liked to bounce around. You can keep this.”

Foreman takes it and returns it to his drawer. “Funny little keepsake, huh.”

“Fitting, though,” Chase adds.

“Yeah.” 

“Hey, you wanna go out for drinks later?” 

Foreman looks at the pile of papers on his desk. “I got performance reviews to write,” he tells Chase.

“That’s not a no,” Chase points out, grinning.

“You’re paying,” Foreman says after a pause. “And no karaoke.”

“You love karaoke!”

“I do not,” Foreman says flatly. “ _You_ love karaoke, because you live to embarrass me.”

“It’s fun!” beams Chase. “If you hated it that much, you’d tell me no.”

Foreman sighs, knowing he’s lost the battle. “If anyone asks, I’m gonna tell them I don’t know you,” he warns Chase.

“You do that,” Chase says, standing. “See where it gets you. I’ll meet you here at 5?”

“Yeah, okay,” Foreman replies.

“Cool,” says Chase, and snags Foreman’s protein bar off his desk on his way out.

By the time five o’clock rolls around, Foreman is nursing a headache thanks to hours of staring at small print. Rubbing his temple, he scribbles his signature at the bottom of the last performance review for the day and then shifts it to the right, on top of a neat pile of papers he’s done with.

He sits back in his chair, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. God, he hates paperwork. He loves his job, loves being Dean of Medicine, but the papers… they’re never-ending.

The door opens, and Foreman opens his eyes to see Chase pop his head in. “Hey,” he says. “Done?” He’s dressed ready to leave, leather jacket over his clothes instead of his lab coat, and his messenger bag slung across his body.

Foreman groans when he remembers they’d made plans. “Mind if I take a raincheck on the drinks?” he asks, giving Chase an apologetic look. “My head is _killing_ me.”

Chase walks in and sits down in the chair in front of Foreman’s desk. “You take something for it?” he asks.

Foreman nods. “Took an Advil some time ago. Hasn’t had time to work yet, I think.”

“Or,” Chase says, “maybe it can’t work when you keep staring at this super-tiny font. What is that anyway? Size 10?”

“Don’t know,” mutters Foreman.

“Why don’t you ask everyone to type bigger?” Chase suggests.

Foreman glares at him. “You saying my eyesight sucks?”

Chase grins. “Was bound to happen anyway, especially now that you’re getting on in years.”

Foreman rolls his eyes. “I’m not that much older than you,” he points out.

“Sure,” says Chase, grin widening. “Tell you what - we can have drinks later. D’you wanna, I dunno, get pizza and play video games?”

“It’s Friday night,” Foreman reminds Chase. “You could still go out.”

Chase shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Not really in the mood, though.”

“The others aren’t free?” 

“Taub’s got the girls, and Park has a date,” Chase informs him. “Adams is doing her volunteering thing.”

“Oh.” Foreman considers for a moment, and then says, “Pizza and video games sounds good.”

“Cool,” says Chase. “Might help you unwind, you know.”

“Yeah.” Foreman stands. “My place?”

“Sure,” replies Chase, standing too. “You got _Call of Duty_?”

Foreman nods. “Yeah, I got _Black Ops_.”

“Perfect,” Chase declares. “Tell you what - I’m gonna go home, change into something more comfortable, and meet you back at your place. Give you some time to freshen up too. That okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Foreman doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful. His head still hurts, and he’d like the Advil to begin doing his job before he sits down to play noisy first-person shooter games with Chase, who gets… enthusiastic.

“See you later, then.” Chase is already at the door.

“Later,” echoes Foreman.

“You know something?” Foreman asks contemplatively.

“What?” Chase asks. He’s upside-down on Foreman’s couch with his head hanging off and his legs up on the back of it. 

Foreman takes another sip of his beer. “I can’t tell Taub’s kids apart.”

Chase laughs at that. “Well, if it helps, I think sometimes he can’t either.”

“Can you?” asks Foreman.

“Nope,” Chase replies shamelessly. “They’re babies, Foreman, they all look the same for a couple years.”

“Doesn’t help that they’ve got practically the same name.” Foreman snorts. “Can you believe it, man? The longer I think about it, the funnier it gets.”

“It is pretty funny,” agrees Chase.

Foreman glances sideways at him. “You gonna sit up properly any time soon? You’re going red in the face.”

“This is fun, though!” Chase protests. 

They stopped playing _Call of Duty_ a while ago. There are empty pizza boxes on the coffee table, and now the two of them are working through a six-pack of beer while a nature documentary goes on in the background. It’s getting late, but Chase seems to be in no hurry to leave, and Foreman, for once, doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have company.

Chase, clearly having decided Foreman’s right after all, sits up and maneuvers himself into a more comfortable position. “I miss your old couch,” he tells Foreman. “This one’s not that fluffy. Why couldn’t you bring it when you moved?”

“Because it was tainted,” Foreman answers darkly, scowling as the memories flood back. “Just like that entire apartment.”

“‘Cause of that woman you were seeing?” Chase asks, reaching for his third beer. “The married one?”

“Nah,” Foreman replies. “I mean, she was kind of the cherry on top. But really, it’s Taub’s fault.”

“Taub?” Chase repeats, surprised. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and asks, “How was it Taub’s fault? What did he do?”

“Put your feet back down,” Foreman orders.

Chase rolls his eyes, but listens. “Killjoy.”

Ignoring him, Foreman says, “Well, you remember when Taub moved in with me? While he was going through his divorce?”

Chase nods.

“And you remember he was seeing Ruby? And also his wife at the same time?”

Chase nods again. He’s still pink in the face from being upside-down for so long. 

“Well, I caught him and his wife going at it on my couch,” Foreman tells Chase.

Chase chokes on his beer, and begins coughing. Putting his beer down on the table, he leans forward, face going back to red as he tries to breathe. Sighing, Foreman thumps his back twice, and then rubs it a little. 

“Thanks,” Chase gasps as soon as he’s able to speak. “Are you serious, though?”

Foreman nods. “Unfortunately,” he says, disgusted all over again. “He said she wanted to do it in my bed.”

“Did they?” Chase asks thoughtfully, sitting back again.

“He said they didn’t but I don’t know if I believe him,” Foreman admits. “Thought he did confess to doing it in the kitchen too.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” says Chase, nose wrinkling. “That’s what your food comes from.”

“Exactly!” agrees Foreman. “I couldn’t live there after that. Moved out the moment I found a better place. Got new furniture, too.”

“And Taub got kids,” Chase adds with a snort. “Somehow I think you got the better end of the deal here.”

Foreman grins. “Karma,” he says smugly. 

“Cute kids, though,” Chase says.

“I guess,” says Foreman with a shrug. “I mean, they look the same to me as any other kid.”

“So you’ve said,” Chase replies, amused. He finishes his beer and then gets to his feet, collecting the empty cans and pizza boxes. Foreman stands too, wiping the table down with a napkin and making sure there aren’t any grease marks or condensation rings on it. 

“Thanks,” he tells Chase when they’re done cleaning. “Taub never cleaned up after himself.”

Chase grins. “Doesn’t sound like a fun roommate.”

“Eh, he was pretty good at video games,” Foreman says with a shrug. “Horrible cooking, though.”

“I remember,” laughs Chase.

They head back to the living-room. It’s almost eleven, and Foreman is beginning to feel sleepy now. Chase too, it seems - he’s yawning, stretching his arms above his head in a way that makes him look even younger than usual.

“Tired?” Foreman asks.

Chase nods. “Yeah. Didn’t think I’d be, considering I’ve done nothing all day.”

“We’re getting old,” Foreman sighs.

“Speak for yourself,” Chase says with a smirk. “You’re the one with the failing eyesight.”

“Oh, shut up.” Then he asks, “You okay to drive home?”

Chase yawns again, and then nods. “Yeah, should be fine. It’s not a long drive.”

“Or,” Foreman says thoughtfully, “you could stay. If you wanted to,” he adds. “Leave in the morning.”

“You sure?” Chase asks. “I don’t wanna impose-”

“Don’t be stupid,” dismisses Foreman. “It’s late, and you’re tired. I’ll put you up in the guest room. Can’t be worse than Taub, anyway.”

Chase grins. “That a challenge?”

“God no,” Foreman says at once. “Don’t you dare.”

Chase laughs. “All right, all right,” he says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I promise not to have sex on your couch or to make horrible food that makes you ill.”

“All I ask for in a guest,” Foreman replies, grinning back.

Chase wanders into the kitchen when Foreman is making breakfast the next morning. He’s wearing his t-shirt and boxers, and yawns as he shuffles in. “Morning,” he greets sleepily, sitting down at the small table in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Foreman answers. “Bacon?”

“Sounds good,” Chase replies. He yawns again, and then puts his head in his arms on the table. “Got coffee?” he asks, voice muffled into his arms.

“Yep.” Foreman pours some out in a mug for him and sets it down in front of him. “Here.” 

Chase straightens up and takes a sip. “Oh, bless you,” he mutters fervently, and then takes another.

Foreman grins. “You’re welcome.” He turns off the stove, puts the bacon into plates, and joins Chase at the table. “Got plans this weekend?”

Chase takes a bite of his breakfast before replying. “Meeting Park’s Popo tonight,” he tells Foreman.

“What, seriously?” Foreman asks, when Chase doesn’t follow it up with a joke. “What for?”

“It’s game night,” Chase informs him, completely seriously. “Every couple weekends, Popo and I meet up at my place for board games. Sometimes we watch a movie.”

“You and Park’s Popo?” Foreman repeats. He’s having trouble imagining Chase spending his weekend nights with an Asian grandma instead of going out and getting laid like he used to do.

“Yeah,” Chase says. “If Park’s free, she joins us.”

“I see.” Foreman’s still a little confused, but decides to let it go for now.

“What about you?” Chase asks, taking a sip from his coffee. “Plans?”

“I was thinking I’d finish up the performance reviews,” Foreman answers.

“What, seriously?” Chase looks astonished. “Foreman. Eric. My guy. It’s _Saturday_.”

“Yes, I’m aware what day of the week it is.”

“And you’re going to do performance reviews instead of something fun?” Chase has got an eyebrow halfway up his forehead and a judgy look on his face.

“Yes, Chase, because it’s got to be done,” Foreman tells him, disgruntled. “Besides, what fun stuff? I’m single, man.”

“So get a date,” Chase tells him, like it’s that simple.

Foreman snorts, remembering his disastrous affair with Anita. “No, thank you.”

“Fine.” Chase shrugs. “You do you.” He finishes up the last of his bacon. “Who am I to force you to have fun?”

Foreman rolls his eyes. “Drama queen,” he says.

“Wet blanket,” Chase fires back.

“Hyperactive preteen.”

“Utter and absolute killjoy.”

“Make great coffee, though,” Foreman counters. “And I have an Xbox. You love my Xbox.”

“That is true,” Chase concedes, and raises his mug as if in a toast. Foreman raises his own, grinning, and the two of them finish breakfast in companionable silence.

Chase leaves soon after breakfast. Foreman spends the rest of the day at his dining table, surrounded by paperwork, a cup of coffee abandoned in front of him, and works undisturbed until lunch.

He _is_ boring, he knows that. He always has been. His life has been limited to a bubble, and inside that bubble is him, and his career. He doesn’t even really have hobbies outside of gaming and going to the gym, and he’s not sure those count. He barely has a social life, and his only friends also happen to be his colleagues. Who are now his subordinates.

He takes stock of his life as he prepares his lunch. Dean of Medicine. He knows it’s a prestigious position, and he knows just how hard he’s worked to get here. He deserves everything he’s got right now, every single success and accomplishment. Nothing makes him feel more satisfied than walking into his office every morning, knowing he’s made it to the top.

But then he comes home to this empty apartment. It’s a nice apartment. He’s decorated it himself. But there’s no warmth to it, and no amount of earth-toned decor or feng shui is going to change the fact that every night, he gets into bed alone, and every morning, he wakes up alone.

That, he realizes suddenly, kind of explains why it had felt so nice, having Chase over. Why he hadn’t minded that Chase stayed till it was late. Why he’d offered to let Chase sleep over. It felt good to have another human being in his space, someone to hang out and play video games with, and have meals with. He enjoys Chase’s company at work and outside of it, and while this was not the first time Chase had come over to his home, he can’t deny that it felt different, being comfortable enough with him to let him stay the night.

And weirdly enough, now that Chase is gone, Foreman realizes he kind of misses him. 

Monday morning Chase arrives to work wearing the most horrendous sweater in the history of the human race. Foreman knows this because he reaches work at the same time as Chase, and is assaulted by the mud-brown monstrosity barely two steps out of his car.

“What are you wearing?” is how he greets Chase.

“Popo made me a sweater!” Chase tells Foreman brightly. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning,” mutters Foreman. “You gonna keep that on for the rest of the day?”

“Well, unless someone bleeds on it, yeah,” Chase replies as they set off together towards the hospital entrance. “Why? Something wrong with it?”

“No, nothing,” Foreman answers, “except, well. Everything.”

“Pfft, you’re just jealous,” Chase retorts, appearing unaffected by Foreman’s judgment. “It’s very warm and comfortable. Popo’s great at knitting.”

“Yes, I can see she’s very talented,” Foreman replies deadpan. “Maybe I should ask for a sweater too.”

“She’d make you one,” Chase tells him. “What color d’you want it in?”

Foreman shakes his head. “I was joking, Chase. I don’t want Popo to knit me a sweater.”

“You’re missing out,” Chase says. “So how was your weekend?” he asks as they step into the warmth of the building.

“I finished the performance reviews,” Foreman tells him.

“Good on you,” Chase answers after a pause. “I got my arse kicked at cribbage by Popo. Spent yesterday at home.”

“We’re boring, you realize that, right?” Foreman says after a few moments.

Chase grins. “Yeah, well. Speak for yourself.”

“You spent the weekend playing cribbage with an old lady, and then spent the next day sleeping in,” Foreman reminds him. “I spent it doing paperwork. Chase, we’re boring as hell.”

“Well, the original plan was to go out for drinks,” Chase says.

“We can do that sometime this week,” Foreman says. They’re at his office now; he unlocks the door and heads in, putting his briefcase down and taking his coat off.

“Fine by me,” Chase answers, having wandered in after him. “All right, I’m gonna go swing by the ER before heading upstairs. Maybe they’ve got a case for us.”

“You do that,” Foreman tells him. “Hey, uh,” he says when Chase is at the door.

“Yeah?” Chase stops and looks at him expectantly.

“I’ll see you for lunch?” he asks a little awkwardly. “I’ll get you donuts,” he adds.

Chase grins. “Donuts? I’m in. Provided no one’s dying.”

“Okay, good,” says Foreman, still awkward. “See you later, I guess.”

Chase’s grin softens into a smile. “Later, Foreman.”

Foreman has no good explanation for why he spends the rest of his morning in a good mood.

It becomes routine, somehow. Foreman rarely used to head down to the cafe for lunch; now he finds himself going everyday, and having his lunch with Chase. On the days Chase can’t make it, Foreman eats in his office. When he’s too busy with work, Chase joins him at his desk. When Chase is lost in a patient file, Foreman takes food to his office.

It’s nice. 

Well, until Taub notices.

“I’m a little hurt,” he comments one day, when Foreman arrives in the conference room with a bag of Chinese takeout. “You never bring any of us lunch.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m his favorite,” Chase calls out from his desk.

“Don’t you guys have a case or something to be working on?” Foreman asks, annoyed. He hadn’t been expecting to find all of them there, seated around the conference table and looking at him like he’s intentionally starving them.

“Just got done,” Adams reports. “Patient should be discharged tomorrow.”

“Are those dumplings I smell?” Park asks interestedly.

“You got dumplings?” Chase asks, perking up. “Give me!”

Foreman takes a step back just in time to prevent the bag being swiped by Park, and hands it off to Chase. “Order your own food,” he tells Park irritably.

“I’ve got lunch in the fridge in the lounge,” she answers. “The dumplings just smell good, that’s all.”

“I’m not sharing,” Chase says before anyone can ask. He’s already got the takeout boxes out of the bag and on his desk, and is unwrapping a pair of chopsticks.

“So what do we have to do to be served lunch by our boss?” Taub asks.

“Is it sexual favors?” Park asks.

Chase chokes on his dumpling. Foreman sighs and heads over to thump his back until he’s sure Chase will survive and he won’t have to go searching for a new Head of Department. “Yes, it’s sexual favors,” he answers Park flatly. “In fact, that’s how Chase got the job, too.”

“Dammit,” says Taub. “Does this mean I would’ve gotten the job if I’d had sex with you instead of with my wife?”

“No,” Foreman tells him, glaring.

“Not your type?” Adams asks innocently.

“He’d probably cheat on you too,” Chase adds with a grin, back to his normal self now that he’s no longer choking.

“Can’t get Foreman pregnant, though,” Taub points out.

“You assume I’d _want_ to date you,” Foreman says irritably.

“You don’t?” Taub clutches his heart. “I’m hurt.”

“I don’t date single moms,” Foreman tells him.

“Oh, damn,” Park whispers.

“I think Foreman won that one,” Chase says. “You get the last dumpling as a prize.”

“You ate them _all_?” Foreman asks incredulously, sitting down across from Chase at his desk.

“I saved you one!” Chase tells him, pushing it over.

“Very generous of you,” Foreman notes.

“Thank you!” beams Chase, and then digs into the beef noodles.

“Leave these two,” sighs Park dramatically. “We’re going to have to order our own food, gang. I feel like I’ve been left to starve by my uncaring parents.”

“We’re not your parents,” Foreman tells her, opening his takeout box and batting Chase’s hands away from it without having to look.

“For one, I don’t care if you’re out all night past your curfew,” Chase adds.

“I do not have a curfew!” protests Park.

“You kind of do,” Adam points out. “I asked if you wanted to go for drinks and you said you had to be home by eleven.”

“Because Popo-” begins Park, and then Taub interrupts, and it’s all downhill from there.

It’s the most Foreman has enjoyed himself in a single afternoon.

“I think I’ve found a new Head of Oncology,” Foreman tells Chase, one night while they’re hanging out at Chase’s apartment.

“Yeah?” Chase takes a bite out of his sandwich. “Who?”

“That guy from Houston,” Foreman answers. “Choudhary. He’s got a stellar resume, excellent recommendations.”

“Good,” Chase says after a moment. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I just…” Foreman leans back into the couch. “I don’t know. Feels a little strange.”

“‘Cause of Wilson?” Chase asks.

Foreman nods. “Yeah. It’s gonna be weird, seeing someone else in his office.”

Chase hums in agreement. There’s a pause, and then he says, voice quiet, “It’s been about three months.”

“Yeah.” Foreman exhales slowly. “Where do you think they are? House and Wilson?”

Chase shrugs. “Somewhere nice, I hope. Hawaii or something.” He’s not looking at Foreman, eyes fixed to his sandwich instead like the lettuce in it is the most interesting thing in the world.

Neither of them mention that in two months, Wilson will be gone. There’s no need; it’s been weighing on Foreman’s mind since he began interviewing for Wilson’s job, and from Chase’s expression it’s clear that he’s been thinking about it too.

“What do you think House will do, after?” he asks quietly.

Chase shrugs again. “I don’t know. His job and Wilson are the only things he ever really gave enough of a damn about.”

“Yeah,” Foreman agrees. “But you know he cared about you too,” he adds.

Chase finally looks up at that. “Yeah, I know,” he says after a moment.

Foreman waits for him to say something else, but he remains quiet, so Foreman decides to change the topic. Chase looks sad again, and there’s really no point in continuing this conversation. Wilson and House are so far beyond their reach right now that Foreman can’t even begin to fathom it. All he can do is hope for the best for them.

“Decided what to watch yet?” Foreman asks Chase in the end. “Not _The Breakfast Club_ again,” he adds before Chase can say it.

“It’s a classic!” Chase protests.

“You know it by heart at this point,” Foreman argues. “ _I_ know it by heart at this point. That is embarrassing, Chase.”

“No it isn’t! It’s a great movie!”

“We are _not_ watching it again, and that is that.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Chase says petulantly. “You got better ideas?”

“Let me see what you’ve got,” Foreman says, reaching for the stack of DVDs on the coffee table. In the meanwhile, Chase finishes his sandwich and gets up to go put his plate in the kitchen. Foreman’s already eaten, and his plate is loaded in the dishwasher already, because his mama’s raised him to be a decent house-guest and also because the last thing he wants to do is become Taub.

His phone rings, interrupting his internal debate of _Star Wars_ versus _Lord of the Rings_ \- neither of which Chase has watched, because he’s (in Foreman’s opinion) cinematically illiterate. Caller ID shows his father’s name. For a moment Foreman considers letting it go to voicemail, but then he realizes that it would just make his dad call again. Better to get it over with now.

“Hey, Dad,” he says when he picks up, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Hello, Eric,” his father greets. “Doing good?”

“Yeah,” Foreman answers. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. How’s the job?” 

“Good.”

“Did you read the article I emailed you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Foreman says, a second too late. 

“You did not,” his father guesses wryly.

Foreman sighs. “I’ve been busy, Dad.”

“You can spare ten minutes for the Lord,” his father chides. “Anyway, that’s not what I called about.”

Chase walks back in, looking askance at Foreman as he sits back down. “My dad,” Foreman mouths, and then says, out loud, “What’s up?”

“It’s your cousin Rosie’s wedding rehearsal dinner next week,” his father says. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know yet,” Foreman tells him. “I’m busy, Dad. Got a lot of work to do.”

“Even on a Sunday?” questions his father incredulously.

Foreman rolls his eyes, glad his dad can’t see it. “Yes, Dad.”

“It’s _Rosie_ ,” his father says, like that is going to help. “Try.”

“I will,” Foreman replies after a pause, lying through his teeth. He has no intention of showing up. Then, before his father can think of something else, “Dad, I gotta go now, I’m not home right now.”

“Oh?” Now his father sounds interested, much to Foreman’s chagrin. “Out on a date?”

“I’m at Chase’s,” Foreman tells him. “You remember Dr. Chase.”

“Oh, yes!” his father answers enthusiastically. “He’s a nice young man.”

“Yeah.”

“You know he prayed with me when you were ill,” his father continues, not at all discouraged by Foreman’s tone.

“Really?” Foreman asks, surprised. Next to him, Chase is playing a game on his phone, not at all seeming impatient or annoyed with Foreman’s lengthy phone call that his father seems to be in no mood to end.

“Yes,” his dad confirms. “I bet you _he’d_ read the article if I emailed it to him.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Foreman answers distractedly. He’s still trying to process this new information. “Right, okay, I gotta go now, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right, son. See you at Rosie’s.”

“I’m not-” but his father has already hung up. With a sound of frustration, Foreman puts his phone down on the coffee table, and hands Chase the closest DVD within reach.

“What’s up?” Chase asks as he gets up to put _The Fellowship of the Ring_ into the DVD player.

“Wanted to know if I read the article he emailed me about how beneficial it is to go to church,” grumbles Foreman.

Chase pops the DVD in. “Did you?”

“Of course not,” Foreman replies, disgruntled. “I’m not going to church no matter how much he tries to talk me into it. And don’t you start either,” he adds warningly.

“Why would I?” Chase asks, shrugging. “I don’t go either.”

“Thank God,” Foreman mutters, relieved. “He also wanted to know if I’m going to Cousin Rosie’s rehearsal dinner next week.” He scoffs. “As if I’m willingly going to spend time with Cousin Rosie and Auntie Em.”

“Not a fan of Auntie Em, I take it,” Chase quips, joining Foreman on the couch as the DVD player loads the movie. 

“She’s not bad, she’s just… a lot,” Foreman replies. “Most of my family is. Lot of gossiping, getting all up in everyone’s business. Probably gonna get on my case, ask why I’m not married yet and stuff. You know how it is.” 

“No, actually,” Chase says after a moment. “I don’t.”

“Oh.” Awkward. “My bad.”

“It’s fine,” dismisses Chase. “Your family sounds nice, honestly.”

“Still not going to Rosie’s rehearsal dinner,” Foreman says after a pause, making Chase laugh. Then, “Dad also mentioned you prayed with him. Uh, when I was sick.”

“Yeah, I did,” Chase answers, like it’s not a big deal. The movie’s beginning, the opening credits playing, but Foreman’s got his attention on his friend.

“You never mentioned it,” he says.

Chase shrugs. “It’s not the kind of thing you say,” he replies. “I didn’t do it to get a pat on the back or your gratitude or something. I did it because your dad looked like he could do with the company, and because prayer can be comforting, sometimes.”

Foreman processes this. “No wonder my dad likes you so much even though he’s only met you, like, twice,” he says. “Not going to church, either, by the way.”

Chase laughs again. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep that in mind if your dad tries to bribe me to take you. I like him too, by the way. He loves you a lot, you know.”

“Yeah.” Foreman does know. “He does.” Unlike Chase’s father, who, if Foreman recalls correctly, couldn’t be assed to give one crap about his son. Foreman isn’t a big believer in church and the healing power of prayer and all that stuff, but he does hope that if hell exists, Rowan Chase is burning in it.

The movie has begun, and Chase is watching the screen, so Foreman also turns his attention to it. He’s only half-watching, though, as he turns over the conversation in his head and tries to make sense of it.

There’s an unusual vehemence to the way Chase slams his tray down on the table and then slides into the booth. Foreman watches, eyebrows raised, as Chase takes an aggressive bite of his burger. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” he asks.

“No,” Chase answers shortly, putting his burger down. “It’s Taub.”

“What did he do?” Foreman asks, spearing a piece of chicken from his salad on his fork. 

Chase pauses. “It’s nothing,” he says eventually. “We just disagreed about a patient.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Foreman points out.

Giving in, Chase sighs. “I just… feel like he doesn’t respect me,” he says in the end. “I mean, it was fine when we were colleagues, ‘cause then we were equal. Now… not so much.”

“He doesn’t listen to you?” Foreman asks with concern, leaning forward.

“No, it’s not that, not exactly,” Chase replies, sounding frustrated. “He argues more, he pushes back, he snarks… but all that I can handle. Doesn’t mean it’s not annoying. I just… I don’t want to treat them the way House treated us, you know? It was effective, but it made us all feel like crap most of the time, and I actually like them. I don’t want to do that to them.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Foreman asks after a pause.

“No, God no,” Chase says at once. “Last thing I need is for him to think I can’t handle a little conflict without coming running to you.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Foreman says. “Offer’s on the table any time you need it, though.”

“Appreciate it,” Chase answers, with a small smile. 

“Look, don’t mind him, all right?” Foreman suggests. “I think it’s just chafing at him that you’re younger than him and you’re his boss.”

“ _You’re_ younger than him and his boss,” Chase points out.

“And he annoys me too, sometimes,” Foreman reminds him. “But he stopped, after a while. He’ll stop with you too.”

“Do you think he’s mad I got House’s job?” Chase asks.

“Don’t think so,” Foreman refutes. “It was always going to be you, Chase. I didn't ask you to be Head of Diagnostics by default or because we’re friends. I did it because I truly believe you’re the best person for the job.”

“Thank you,” Chase says after a few moments. “Really.”

Foreman nods. “Just telling it like it is. Don’t let Taub get to you, okay? He’ll get over himself soon. You just gotta ride it out.”

“Got it,” says Chase. He takes a couple more bites of his burger, and then asks, “You free tonight after work?”

“Yeah, why?” asks Foreman.

“Thought we could hang out,” Chase says. “I’ve been wanting to go bowling for a while.”

“Just me and you?” Foreman asks before he can stop himself.

Chase shrugs. “Could ask the others if they wanted to come along. It’ll be more fun that way.”

“Okay, yeah, sure.” Foreman’s not sure why he feels a little disappointed, but it’s fine. It’s okay. He gets plenty of one-on-one time with Chase, and besides, bowling is always more entertaining with a bunch of people.

“Cool,” says Chase, mouth closing around the straw sticking out of his milkshake. “See you tonight, then.”

Taub visits Foreman in his office later on in the afternoon, around fifteen minutes before Foreman’s done for the day. “Hey,” he says, plopping down in the chair in front of Foreman’s desk. “Busy?”

“Yes, actually,” Foreman answers, looking up from his email.

“Cool, cool,” says Taub, clearly not caring. “I hear you’re going bowling with Chase tonight.”

“He said he was gonna invite you people too,” Foreman says, surprised. “Did he not?”

“Oh, he did,” Taub answers. “We already had other plans, though.”

“Such as?” questions Foreman.

“Drinking,” Taub says. “I’m going drinking with Park and Adams.”

“Not Chase?” That’s surprising. As far as Foreman’s aware, Chase is usually a part of these group plans.

Taub hesitates. “It’s a little different now,” he says. “He’s our boss.”

“He was your friend first,” Foreman reminds him.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Taub answers, a little defensive now. “We’ll invite him next time. Happy now?”

“That’s not what I… never mind,” Foreman sighs. Giving up on his email, he logs out and powers down his computer before turning back to Taub. “Look, I know it must be weird, having him be your boss now,” he says. “But he’s doing his best, all right? And he’s doing pretty good, too. Go easy on him.”

Taub groans. “Seriously? He snitched to you about the biopsy?”

“What biopsy?” Foreman asks immediately, narrowing his eyes.

“The one I did,” Taub replies. “I disagreed with his diagnosis, he ordered a contrast x-ray, and I kinda threw in a liver biopsy too.”

“Behind his back?” Foreman asks incredulously.

“I wouldn’t say behind his back, exactly,” Taub hedges. “More like… just covering all bases?”

“No, you went behind his back,” Foreman corrects, trying his best not to snap. “And no, he did not mention that to me. You’re lucky nothing bad happened.”

“No harm, no foul,” Taub says, with an infuriating kind of nonchalance that pisses Foreman off further.

“That’s not a justification, Taub,” he says, frowning. “This happens again, I’m gonna have to look into it.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” Taub fires.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Foreman retorts. “I learned the hard way to trust my boss, Taub. You don’t want to do that with Chase.”

“And what if he’s wrong?” Taub counters.

“Trust Chase,” Foreman repeats. “He’s not just good, he’s a brilliant doctor, and he knows what he’s doing. You’ve got concerns, you come to me. You do _not_ go behind his back.”

“Fine, fine,” grumbles Taub. “Got the point. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” says Foreman firmly. “He’s trying his best, Taub. Don’t make his job any harder than it has to be.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Taub says irritably. “And while we’re on the subject - don’t you think you’re getting too defensive? He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

Foreman raises an eyebrow. “I know he can,” he says. “But it’s my job to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“That’s your excuse? Okay,” Taub says, not looking convinced at all.

“My excuse? For what?” asks Foreman, perplexed.

“Nothing,” Taub says, too quickly to be believable.

“Taub.”

“Okay, fine, we’ve got a bet going in the department,” Taub confesses, giving in easily. “The three of us. Adams is betting on you and Chase just being friends, Park is betting on you guys dating without telling anyone, and I’ve got money on you having a thing for Chase but not saying it.”

Foreman is pretty sure that if his eyebrows travel any further up his forehead, they’ll reach his scalp. “What,” he says flatly.

Taub shrugs uncomfortably. “You do spend a lot of time together, you know.”

“We’re _friends_ ,” Foreman points out.

“Adams bet you’d say that. Is she right? ‘Cause if so, we owe her.”

“I’m not going to acknowledge your stupid bet,” Foreman says icily. 

“That won’t make it go away, not until we have an answer,” Taub replies. “For what it’s worth, though,” he adds, “I think if you asked Chase out he’d say yes.”

That throws Foreman for a loop. “What?” he asks, discomfort curling cold in his gut.

“You know,” Taub says, shrugging again. “He wouldn’t say no to you. Not ‘cause you’re his boss,” he adds quickly.

“Then?” Foreman asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I mean, he’s got a…. reputation.”

“Meaning?” Foreman’s got an idea where Taub’s getting at, and it’s beginning to annoy him.

“Meaning he’s a slut, Foreman,” sighs Taub. “Just had to make me say it, huh.”

“You didn’t have to,” Foreman says sharply. “He’s your _boss_ , Taub.”

“You’re the one who said he was my friend first,” counters Taub. “And as his friend, I’m telling you, I don’t think he gives a crap where the sex is coming from, as long as he’s getting it.”

“I am not discussing this any longer,” Foreman says, expression smoothening to neutrality. 

“Don’t be a killjoy, man,” Taub begins.

“I’m not being a killjoy, I am uncomfortable with this discussion,” Foreman tells Taub stiffly. He’s never really understood the hospital’s fascination with Chase’s personal life, and it irritates him that Taub is now gossiping about it too.

And apparently betting that Foreman is into Chase, it seems. That’s a suitcase Foreman is going to unpack on his own, later, preferably in the comfort and solitude of his apartment and with a bottle of scotch.

The clock strikes five. Foreman stands, and is reaching for his cell phone when he catches movement just out of the corner of his eye. He looks towards the door just to see Chase turn and walk away, so quiet that Foreman would not have known he’d even been there if he hadn’t just seen him.

“Shit,” he curses.

“What?” Taub asks, unaware of Chase’s recent presence or the fact that he’s probably overheard everything.

“Nothing,” says Foreman irritably. “Go home, Taub. Or drinking, whatever.”

“What’s got you so pissy all of a sudden?” Taub asks, standing.

Foreman doesn’t answer that. “Have fun,” he tells Taub, pocketing his phone and taking off after Chase, leaving Taub behind to mutter a confused “what the hell?”

He finds Chase standing in the little balcony just off his office, elbows on the railing as he looks out over the city. “Hey,” he says carefully, going to stand next to him.

Chase doesn’t look at him. “Hey,” he answers, monotone.

Foreman sighs. “How much of that did you hear?” No point in pretending he hadn’t overheard.

“Just about enough,” Chase answers. He’s wearing his leather jacket but not his bag, which Foreman has seen dumped on the floor by his desk. “Is it all right if I don’t go bowling with you today? I’m not feeling up to it-”

“Chase,” interrupts Foreman. “I don’t agree with him, just so you know.”

Chase lets out a mirthless laugh. He’s still not looking at Foreman. “Does it matter?”

“Seems to me it matters to you,” Foreman says.

That makes Chase turn to look at him. “Taub’s not wrong,” he says quietly. “When he said I don’t care where the sex is coming from.”

“What-”

“I’m bisexual, Foreman,” Chase cuts in, finally turning to look at him.

Foreman stops short. “What?”

Chase looks at him a moment longer before turning back to the city. “You heard me.”

“I did, I just…” He racks his brains for any hint that he may have missed over the years, any mention of Chase going out with a man, or sleeping with one - and comes up with nothing. “I didn’t know,” he says in the end.

“That was on purpose,” Chase tells him with a mirthless chuckle. “Everyone already thinks I’m a slut. I’m not gonna let them attribute it to me being bi.”

“They wouldn’t,” Foreman says, after a pause. “Everyone knew Thirteen’s bi, and no one here gave her any crap for it-”

“No?” Chase interjects. “All the jokes, the puns, the discussion of her dating life whenever possible…” 

“That’s just how it is with coworkers, though,” Foreman replies.

“It’s a little different in this case,” Chase says. “With Thirteen, everyone was always super happy to think of her having sex with women. It’s every guy’s fantasy, isn’t it? And she was really cool about the entire thing, but I can’t be. Everyone here already feels entitled to discussing my sex life, and that’s just when you all assume I’m straight. Add in that I’m bi, and it’ll be fucking unbearable.”

The uncharacteristic cursing has Foreman blinking in surprise. “Chase…” He stops. He’s not sure what to say.

“Let it be,” Chase says heavily. It’s clear that all of this has been eating at him for some time. Possibly years, now that Foreman thinks of it. “Just… never mind. I’m just venting. You don’t have to listen-”

“Of course I’ll listen. You’re my friend,” Foreman tells him quietly. “Chase… I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me. And I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone if you don’t want me to.” He shifts just a little bit closer to Chase, so that their shoulders are touching.

“Thank you,” Chase says after a few minutes. “I appreciate that.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Foreman adds, “I don’t think you’re a slut. You like sex. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Chase tells him. “I’m fine, you know.”

“I know,” Foreman replies. “But I’m not okay with the way Taub talked about you. And if I hear of anyone else talking about you like that, I’m shutting it down immediately.”

“You can’t control what people talk about,” Chase tells him.

“No, but I can do my best to correct them when they’re wrong,” Foreman counters. “You’re not just a fellow anymore, Chase. You’re the Head of Diagnostics, and you’re the best surgeon in this entire hospital. I can’t stop people from gossiping, but I _can_ make sure that they give you the respect you deserve.”

Chase shifts ever so slightly, just enough that he’s leaning into Foreman’s side just a little. “Thank you,” he says again, voice low. He turns to give Foreman a small but sincere smile. “Really.”

Foreman smiles back. “Any time.”

They stand in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Chase alternates between looking out over the city, and glancing at Foreman out of the corner of his eyes as if trying to gauge what Foreman’s thinking. Foreman lets him, not calling him out on it. 

Then Chase lets out a small laugh. “You know, if someone had told me a year ago that you’d be the first person I’d come out to over here, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“Why not?” asks Foreman, curious. “We’ve been friends for a while, and you know I was with Thirteen so obviously I’ve got no issue with bisexual people.”

“I know,” Chase says. “But coming out is not always easy. My family didn’t take it well, and neither did many of my friends, back in Australia.”

“I’m sorry,” Foreman says after a small pause, for lack of anything better to say.

“It’s why my dad sent me to seminary,” Chase tells Foreman. “He found out I was seeing a boy from my class, and had me pulled out of school at once. Sometimes I wonder if I was the reason he left my mum, you know,” he adds bitterly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Foreman tells him. “Look, I’ve only met your dad once, but I’ve heard enough about him to know that he was just a garbage person. His crap life choices are not your fault, Chase. Besides, you were a kid! It was his job as a parent to make you feel accepted, and he failed.”

“Not how my mum saw it,” Chase says. “Or my sister. I left home as soon as I could, you know. Couldn’t bear to keep hearing about how I’m an abomination who’s going to hell.”

Foreman sighs. “I don’t think any of that’s true.”

Chase shrugs. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Doesn’t matter. I am who I am and I can’t change that.”

“Good,” Foreman says after a moment. “‘Cause there’s _nothing_ wrong with who you are. Well, except for the way you dress,” he adds, elbowing Chase teasingly.

It has the desired effect; Chase grins, almost reluctantly. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t get Popo’s sweaters.”

“It’s not just the sweaters, man. It’s the ties. And the shirts. And the shoes. It’s... everything.”

“You know, just ‘cause you wear a suit all the time doesn’t make you the fashion police,” Chase retorts, elbowing Foreman back.

“At least my ties match my clothes,” Foreman fires back.

“Are your pajamas also a suit?” Chase inquires, eyes sparkling with genuine mirth. “Like Barney Stinson?”

“Who?”

“Barney Stinson,” Chase repeats. “You know, from _How I Met Your Mother_.”

“I don’t watch that show,” Foreman tells him. “Sitcoms are not my thing.”

Chase gasps with exaggerated outrage. “Blasphemy!”

“Don’t let my dad hear you saying that,” chuckles Foreman.

“How do you not know who Barney Stinson is!”

“Well, you didn’t know who Frodo is.”

“And now I do.”

An idea occurs to Foreman. “Hey. I know you said you’re not up to bowling, but if you want we can hang out at my place instead. Get some food, watch _The Two Towers_. What do you think?”

Chase considers the offer for a moment, and then smiles at Foreman. “I’m in.”

The conversation seems to have taken a weight off Chase’s chest; he’s much more animated afterwards, telling Foreman some story of when he was in college as Foreman drives them back to his place. They leave Chase’s car at the hospital, reasoning that Foreman can either drop Chase off later, or Chase could stay the night and go to work with Foreman in the morning.

He falls asleep just as the movie ends. The conversation from earlier was probably draining for him. Foreman pauses the movie, and drops the half-empty bowl of popcorn back in the kitchen. He debates waking Chase up and making him move to the guest bedroom, but he looks comfortable enough, stretched out on the couch. He’s breathing slow and deep, and he looks even younger than usual in his sleep. Foreman is loath to disturb him, knowing how tired he must be.

Instead he gets the comforter from the guest bedroom and drapes it over Chase, who curls into it without waking. Foreman spares a moment to make sure he’s okay, and then turns the TV off before heading towards his room.

He lies awake for a long time, thinking about the day he’s had. Now that he’s processed Chase’s bisexuality sufficiently, it’s time to finally unpack what Taub had said earlier.

Chase is physically attractive. Foreman knows that; he’s got a perfectly functional pair of eyes. Chase has got the sort of Disney-prince looks that he knows people go crazy over. He’s also intelligent as hell, sharp and quick-witted, and good in a crisis. And he’s fun to hang out with - if Foreman has had any R&R at all this crazy year, it’s all been because of Chase. If it wasn’t for him dragging Foreman out for drinking and movies and ice-cream, or even just staying in with him and playing video games, Foreman is pretty sure he’d have lost his mind already.

He’s also got problems though. (Then again, which one of them doesn’t?) Chase has survived abuse, and PTSD, and the loss of his marriage. He’s killed a patient with deliberation and planning. He’s been stabbed in the heart, survived that, and painstakingly clawed his way back to health while dealing with even more trauma. That thing with the nun… Foreman knows that had just been Chase desperately searching for a connection. It had been trauma more than anything, and it had imploded quite spectacularly. As far as he recalls, Chase hasn’t been with anyone after that. Not that Foreman knows of, at least.

It’s Taub’s theory that Chase wouldn’t say no if Foreman were to ask him out. The thing is, Foreman is not quite sure where he himself stands on the matter.

He enjoys Chase’s company. If he’s truthful with himself, Chase is his closest friend. Hell, he’s covered up murder for the guy. They’ve known each other a decade, and even though they didn’t initially like each other, they ended up growing close, eventually. The problem is that Foreman doesn’t know if he wants more. 

Taub’s getting into his head. That’s what this is. He’s making mountains out of molehills, all because of some stupid bet Taub made. Chase hasn’t made any indication that he’s into Foreman, and until Foreman gets some confirmation on that front, he’s not about to make a move and risk the one good relationship he has in his life right now.

Besides, Foreman is Chase’s boss, and that’s another can of worms that he’s not willing to get into right now. House had dated Cuddy, and that had been a shitshow, culminating in House going to jail and Cuddy leaving town. The last thing Foreman wants is for everything to go to shit between him and Chase until they can’t even look at each other anymore.

There’s nothing to be done here. Chase is his best friend, and Taub can shut the hell up.

Chase texts him the next day, around noon. _Taub apologized._

 _Good_ , Foreman replies.

_Did u say something 2 him?_

_Told him to go easy on you,_ Foreman sends. Then, _It takes more effort to type out “2” than “to.”_

Chase replies with a _|_ which Foreman assumes is a creative 8-bit rendition of the middle finger. Grinning to himself, he locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket, returning to his emails.

Five months after House’s fake funeral, Foreman joins Chase and his team in the Diagnostics conference room.

The mood is somber; Adams is even wearing black. Park is quiet for once, and Taub looks tired even though it’s nine in the morning. Chase looks like he hasn’t slept all night.

“Morning,” Foreman says.

“Hey,” Chase answers, subdued. He’s seated at the head of the conference table, holding House’s red mug between his hands. It’s half-full, but the coffee looks like it’s gone cold.

No one needs to say it, but they all know. Wilson is probably dead by now, or very close to it. 

“How are you guys holding up?” Foreman asks.

“Fine,” Taub mutters. Park shrugs one shoulder. Adams doesn’t answer.

“Chase?” Foreman prompts.

“I’m okay,” Chase says. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and three-day scruff. He does not sound convincing at all.

Foreman takes one look at the bunch of them and comes to a decision. “Drinks on me tonight,” he announces. “It’s mandatory.”

“What is this, team bonding?” Taub asks, raising an eyebrow at Foreman.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Foreman answers.

“I’m in,” Adams says.

“Me too,” adds Park.

“And me,” says Taub.

“Chase?” Foreman says when he gets no response.

Chase starts, and then says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in too.” He looks exhausted, and Foreman has half a mind to give him the day off.

Before he can do so, though, Chase grabs a file, and pushes it towards Taub, who’s closest. “Fifty-two year old female,” he says, suppressing a yawn. “Came into the ER after a seizure. Clean tox screen, no medical history of epilepsy.”

Taub takes the file, flipping it open. “What was she doing when the seizure occurred?”

Understanding that they intend to go about the day as normal, Foreman decides to leave them to it. On his way out, he claps Chase on the shoulder, squeezing it once, letting him know without words that he’s there if Chase needs to talk. Chase nods at him, and then goes back to the file, and Foreman exits while pretending he can’t feel Taub staring at his back.

He has lunch alone at his desk. Chase is in surgery, because the patient coded and had to be rushed to the OR, and Taub’s assisting. Foreman uses the time to go over insurance paperwork, losing himself in the details so that he doesn’t have to think about Wilson.

They manage to get the patient stabilized enough for them to leave the hospital at five. Taub takes Park and Adams in his car, while Chase rides in the front passenger seat of Foreman’s BMW. For once, he plays no music, and doesn’t fidget with the seatbelt. The lack of movement is unsettling; normally, Chase has more energy than Foreman knows what to do with.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at Chase out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” Chase answers shortly.

“Don’t seem fine,” Foreman says.

Chase shrugs. “Didn’t get enough sleep.”

“I know Wilson was your friend,” Foreman ventures, a little hesitantly. “If you need to talk…”

“You’re here. I know.” Chase gives him a taut little smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else.

“Yeah.” Foreman has no idea what else to say.

Chase remains quiet for the rest of the evening. He nurses his beer, taking small, slow sips, while in contrast Taub’s knocking them back like it’s the end of the world. Adams sips gracefully at her margarita, while Park is on her third beer barely an hour in.

“He was a good guy,” Taub says eventually. “Wilson.”

There’s a chorus of “yeahs” from around the table.

“Always helpful, always smiling,” Taub continues.

Adams grins. “Except when he was around House.”

Foreman snorts. “I think House had that effect on most people.”

“He genuinely loved House, though,” Chase says, finally speaking. “I think he was maybe the only one who accepted House exactly the way he was.”

“I know it’s irrational,” Park says, “but I kinda hate House for dying on him.”

Chase and Foreman share a look, but neither say anything.

“I hope he wasn’t in pain,” Adams murmurs. 

“Come on,” scoffs Taub. “It’s _cancer_.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Park says, elbowing him hard enough to make him hiss.

“Well, if a better place exists,” Chase says after a few moments of silence, “then that’s where Wilson is.”

“Be a pity if House was in hell, though,” Taub adds.

Foreman grins at that. “Please. I think he’d make the Devil want to cry.”

“He could probably talk Saint Peter into letting him in, let’s be honest,” Park says. 

Even Adams joins in. “Just so he’d stop talking, honestly,” she says with a small smile.

Foreman raises his scotch. “To Wilson,” he says.

“And House, whom he’s stuck with for eternity,” adds Chase, touching his beer glass to Foreman’s. For the first time all day, he’s smiling a little.

They toast to that. Chase, Foreman notes, is quiet again for the rest of the evening.

They head their separate ways soon after. Taub is too drunk to drive, so Adams ends up taking him and Park back in his car. Foreman drops Chase off, and then returns home. He goes straight to bed, too tired even for dinner.

Sleep, when it finally comes, is fractured and unrestful. Foreman keeps seeing images of Wilson, lying in bed, seemingly dying, House hovering nearby. But when Foreman approaches the bed, Wilson turns into Chase, looking like the way he’d been when recovering from his stab wound, and House points his cane threateningly and tells Foreman, “It’s all your fault.”

He wakes with a start. The digital clock on his bedside table reads 01:49. Foreman sits up, shirt sticking to his chest and back with sweat.

He checks his phone, though he’s not exactly sure why. As expected, there are no calls or texts - why would there be? It’s almost 2 AM on a work night.

Giving up on sleep, Foreman gets out of bed with a sigh and heads for the bathroom. He has a quick cold shower and changes into fresh pajamas and a light t-shirt, and then heads for the living-room. Maybe some mindless TV will tire him out enough for him to be able to go back to sleep again.

He’s ten minutes into a documentary about frogs when he can’t take it anymore. His apartment is too quiet, even with the sounds of the TV. It feels too big, too empty, and the aloneness weighs down on Foreman, stifling and heavy on his shoulders. He gets up, fetches his cell phone from his room, and sits back down on one end of the couch, as if Chase is there to be on the other end of it.

Chase, at some point, ended up on speed dial. Foreman dials, not really able to think clearly right now.

“Hello?” Chase’s voice is hoarse with sleep when he picks up, and Foreman immediately regrets calling. “Foreman? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Foreman answers. “Sorry I woke you up.”

There’s the sound of a yawn. Then Chase says, “It’s all right. Are you okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Foreman admits after a pause.

“Oh.” Chase is quiet. 

“Bad dreams,” Foreman says. He doesn’t know why. It feels like he’s telling Chase something intensely personal.

Well, he _is_. He’s just not used to being open like this, to admitting anything that could be perceived as weakness.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chase asks. Foreman can hear the rustling of his sheets, and presumes he must be sitting up.

“Not really,” he tells Chase with a grimace. Chase’s gaunt face is still fresh in his mind. “Just… talk to me. Tell me something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

“Okay.” There’s a pause as Chase thinks, and then he says, “I’ve been thinking about getting my neurosurgery certification.”

“That’s great,” Foreman answers sincerely. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Chase says. “In fact, I kinda… booked a date for the test already.”

“Really?” That surprises Foreman. “When?”

“Yesterday,” Chase tells him. “The test is in a couple months.”

“I could help you study,” Foreman offers. “I helped Taub, remember?”

There’s another short pause. Then, “I might take you up on that.”

“All you have to do is promise not to have sex on my couch and feed me crap food,” Foreman jokes.

“I think I already swore I wouldn’t,” Chase replies with a snort. “Besides, your couch isn’t comfortable enough to have sex on.”

“Don’t insult my couch,” Foreman tells him, pretending to be miffed. Then, “You know, if you pass this exam, I might have to give you a pay raise.”

“Is this supposed to be an incentive?” Chase asks.

“It could be,” Foreman replies.

“How much are we talking?” Chase asks thoughtfully.

Foreman pretends to think. “Your current pay plus one of Tracey’s donuts for every hour.”

“Now _that’s_ incentive,” Chase replies after a moment. “Though you might overwork Tracey.”

“Then you’ll have to do with Krispy Kreme,” Foreman retorts.

“Throw in coffee every now and then and it’s a deal,” says Chase.

“Done,” declares Foreman.

They talk until it’s almost 3 AM, and Chase is yawning more than he’s speaking. Foreman hangs up feeling lighter than he has in a long, long time, and then turns the TV off, getting off the couch to go back to his room. He’s asleep within minutes, and doesn’t wake up till his alarm goes off in the morning.

Chase passes the test on his first try. Of course he does. He’s spent two months studying his ass off, either lying on his front on Foreman’s floor with a textbook, or seated at his table and chugging Red Bull like it’s water. If he’d still have failed after all that, Foreman might have thrown him off his own balcony.

Foreman, true to his word, talks to Accounting about increasing Chase’s pay. At lunch time, he goes up to Diagnostics and finds Chase at his desk, concentrating hard on the report he’s filling in.

“Not going to celebrate?” he asks, standing in front of Chase with his hands in his pockets.

Chase looks up at him and grins. “‘Course I am,” he says, “but later.”

Foreman watches him for a second, and then says, “Come on.”

“What?” Chase asks.

“Come on,” Foreman repeats, this time with a faint smile. “You can do your paperwork later.”

Chase considers him for a moment, and then caps his pen, flipping the file shut. “All right,” he says with a grin. 

“Get your jacket,” Foreman tells him. “We’re going out.”

He drives them to the nearest Krispy Kreme in his car. Chase laughs when Foreman turns into the drive-thru. “You were serious!”

“I did promise,” Foreman says with a grin. “Unfortunately, Tracey is all out today, so you’ll have to do with these.”

“I am not complaining, not at all,” Chase says happily.

They get coffee and half a dozen donuts, and then Foreman drives them back to PPTH. They have their sugary lunch on a bench under a tree on the lawn, Foreman eating as gracefully as he can manage while Chase sits cross-legged on the bench and beams like a child at Christmas.

“Sprinkles,” he declares, halfway through his first donut, “are probably the best thing ever invented by mankind.”

“I don’t know, I think penicillin is kinda an important discovery too,” Foreman replies.

“Wet blanket,” Chase says. “You are a wet blanket, Eric Foreman.”

“So I’ve been told,” Foreman answers wryly.

“We’ve got to cure that,” Chase tells him, taking a sip of his coffee. “Don’t want it to advance and become terminal. Uh… Stage III Wetblanketoma.”

Foreman shakes his head, pretending he isn’t amused. “Oh, that sounds serious.”

“It is,” Chase tells him somberly. The effect is somewhat ruined by the bright pink icing on the donut he’s holding. “Gotta stop it before it progresses to Stage IV.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Foreman asks.

“Well, for one,” Chase says, “I’m going to very generously trade my chocolate donut for your glazed one.”

“What’s wrong with glazed donuts?”

“Grannies have them, Foreman. It’s a granny donut. You know how I know? It’s Popo’s favorite donut. So I am going to do you a favor and take it off your hands. Here.” He holds out his chocolate donut. “It’s got glazing too,” he informs Foreman.

“It looks like it tastes of diabetes,” Foreman says, gingerly accepting it.

“Shut up,” Chase says, “and eat it.”

He watches as Foreman takes a small bite, and then another. And then he takes a big one. “Okay, so it’s not bad,” he admits, swallowing.

Chase beams. “Told you!”

It hits Foreman just then, how good Chase looks right now. Afternoon sun glinting in his hair, eyes bright green, smile wide as he teases Foreman about his donut choices. Something in Foreman’s chest shifts, and then tightens, and, unbidden, Foreman’s eyes fall on Chase’s mouth.

He wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss Chase, very very badly in this moment.

Shit.

“I need to go,” he blurts out.

Chase stops midsentence. “What?”

“I need to go,” Foreman repeats, putting down his donut. “Uh. I just remembered I’ve got. Work. Insurance work. Papers, you know how it is.” He lets out a weird, stilted laugh that sounds nothing like himself.

Chase frowns, mirth vanishing. “Is it urgent?”

“Oh yes.” Foreman nods so quickly it makes his head hurt. “Really urgent. So important.” He stands, shoving his donut into Chase’s hands. “You can finish that if you want. I, uh, I’ll see you later.”

“Foreman-” begins Chase, looking bewildered.

“Later!” Foreman says, and practically runs all the way back to his office, leaving Chase staring after him in confusion.

“Well, _this_ is a surprise.” Thirteen’s voice is wry over the phone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your help,” Foreman tells her, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

“You know it’s almost midnight, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He gave himself the day off and broke several laws on the drive home, whereupon he then spent the rest of the day lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling and quietly panicking.

Thirteen sighs. “This better be good, Eric. You don’t call in ages, and then you decide midnight is a good time to-”

“I’m sorry,” Foreman cuts in, grimacing though she can’t see it. “I’ve been-”

“Busy, I know,” she completes. “I’m fine, by the way. You?”

“I’m screwed,” Foreman answers.

“Ah, this should be interesting,” Thirteen says after a pause. “What happened?”

“I need to ask someone out,” Foreman tells her, as evasively as possible. 

“And?”

“Well, it’s… a guy,” Foreman admits after a few moments.

“Ah,” says Thirteen again. “I see. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Kind of,” Foreman says. “But not really. I mean, that’s part of it, but-”

“Is he straight?” Thirteen asks interestedly.

“No,” Foreman answers. “But he’s not out, and-”

“Chase,” she says at once.

Foreman stops short. “What?”

“Chase,” she repeats. “You want to ask out Chase. About time.”

“What- you knew he’s bi?” He’s going to deal with her other remark later.

“Of course I did,” she says like it’s obvious. “I’ve got great gaydar, Eric. I had him pegged since day one.”

“Wait. Literally?” Foreman asks in disbelief. “Please do _not_ tell me literally.”

She snorts. “No, Eric. Chase and I never had sex.”

“Oh.” He relaxes a little at that. “What did you mean, about time?”

“Mm, you know,” she answers vaguely.

“What?” he asks suspiciously.

“I kinda always thought you two had potential,” she says after a pause.

“He told you he’s bi?” Foreman asks.

“No,” Thirteen replies. “I kinda knew, but he never brought it up so I never asked. I got the feeling he didn’t really want people to know. But he told you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for him,” Thirteen says, sounding sincere. “And now you wanna ask him out?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure,” Foreman admits. “I mean… I’m not gay.”

“Eric.” Now she sounds amused. “We just discussed the existence of bisexual people. Like, literally right now.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he sighs, “but I’ve never looked at any guy like that. I mean, if I was bi, I’d know it, right?”

“A lot of people realize it later in life,” Thirteen informs him. “And that’s all right. And it’s okay to be confused too,” she adds. “It takes time to figure it out, sometimes.”

Foreman thinks about this for a few seconds, and then asks, “So what do I do?” 

“Baby steps,” Thirteen suggests. “Can you see yourself having sex with men? Dating them?”

“I don’t know,” Foreman tells her after a thoughtful pause. Every time he tries to imagine himself with a man his brain refuses to cooperate.

“What about Chase?” Thirteen then asks. “Can you see yourself dating Chase and having sex with him?”

Well, that one’s easy. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I mean… it would be easy. We spend all this time together anyway, and it feels like dating him would be just… an extension of that.”

“He is easy to be around,” Thirteen agrees. “And you haven’t asked him out yet because…”

“I don’t wanna ruin anything,” Foreman tells her. “I mean, if he says no, or if we date and it doesn’t work out… our friendship’s gone. And we might not be able to work together anymore.”

“You and I broke up, but we were fine,” Thirteen reminds him. “I mean, it took some time, but we got there.”

“Yeah, okay, but I’m his boss,” Foreman says. “Our relationship ended when I became your boss.”

“Cuddy was House’s boss, and they dated.”

“And that ended horribly,” Foreman says. “If that’s the standard, I’m fucked.”

She laughs at that. “Relax, Eric. He’s not House, and you’re not Cuddy. For one, you don’t have the boobs for it.”

“Ha ha,” says Foreman sarcastically. “You’re hilarious.”

“My girlfriend thinks so too,” Thirteen tells him smugly. 

“Girlfriend? Good for you,” Foreman says, momentarily distracted.

“Thanks,” she replies. “Don’t change the topic, Eric. Do you really think it won’t work out with him?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. He’s been saying it way too much lately. “I want it to work out. I want him to go out with me. But-”

“You won’t know till you ask him,” Thirteen interrupts. “Eric, there’s no way to play it safe here. You can’t control or predict this. You’re just going to have to take the leap and hope it works out.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Foreman admits.

“I know,” she says. “But you don’t have a choice. Unless you count pining forever as a choice,” she adds.

“I’m not pining,” Foreman says flatly.

“You are, a little bit,” she says. He can’t see it, but he can definitely hear her grinning, even over the phone.

He ignores her, and instead moves on to his biggest concern. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

“You covered up murder for the guy,” Thirteen says.

“Wait, you know about that?” Foreman asks, taken aback yet again.

“He told me,” Thirteen replies. “The night he helped me with Darrien.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway. You did that for him, and I know he’d do it for you. You trusted him enough to tell him about messing with the Huntington’s trial for me. That means something, you know,” she says, and now she sounds completely serious. “Besides, he spends most of his spare time with you when he could be going out and having fun.”

“I’m fun!” Foreman protests.

Thirteen scoffs.

“I am!”

“I’ve met carcinomas that were easier to excise than it is to get you to enjoy yourself,” Thirteen tells him.

Foreman scowls, even though she can’t see it. “Just get to the point, Thirteen.”

She laughs at that. “I did get to the point.”

“Which was?”

“Ask him out,” she says bluntly. “Like House used to say - all relationships end eventually, or they don’t. So either you spend the rest of your life with him, or, worst comes to worst, it doesn’t work out. I know he won’t leave PPTH, and you won’t either, and so at some point you’ll get over yourselves and be friends again. Neither of you have it in yourselves to be mad at each other for long, anyway.”

Foreman mulls this over. It’s sound advice, which shouldn’t be surprising, considering it’s Thirteen. She knows him in and out, and she knows Chase, too. And if she’s unsurprised by this development, it’s only because she’s seen something here before any of them were even aware of its presence. She’s smart, and perceptive, and she has a good head for this kind of thing.

“Thanks,” Foreman says in the end, and finds he means it. “Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she answers, and he can hear her smile. “You’ll let me know how it works out?”

“Yeah, okay,” Foreman agrees. “I’ll call you.”

“At a reasonable time, please,” she adds.

“Yeah, yeah. You, uh, you take care, Thirteen.”

“You too, Eric. Bye.”

And with that, she hangs up, and Foreman is left alone with his thoughts once more.

Foreman’s hoping to talk to Chase about it over lunch. He’s not sure what exactly he’s going to say, but he’s got a vague sort of script in his head and if he sticks to the bullet points, he should be fine.

But then his morning gets taken up by a biomed rep trying to sell him on some new kind of 4D CT - which Foreman cannot for the life of him figure out how it differs from the one they already have. Then a pharma rep arrives just before lunch, talking about a brand new beta-blocker, and Foreman is forced to accommodate him just to be polite, since he’s still got to keep working with them even if he doesn’t agree to using the new beta-blocker. The thought of being able to talk to Chase gets him through the excruciating lunch, but then he finds out from a nurse that Chase is in surgery, because apparently his patient decided to have a SCAD and now needs open heart surgery. Which means Chase is going to be tied up with that for a while.

So in the meantime, Foreman decides to take advantage of the delay and fine-tune his strategy a little. He gets out his notepad and pen, and begins scribbling down his bullet points about the pros and cons of the two of them dating. For one wild moment he even considers making a PowerPoint out of it and showing it to Chase, but then shoots the idea down when he realizes that even if Chase says yes, he’s still going to be laughed at for the rest of his life. He’s forever going to be known as the guy who asked someone out with a presentation. Taub is going to make his life _hell_.

Foreman ends up falling asleep at his desk, head pillowed by his arms. He walks down to the OR in his dream, barges in without changing out of his suit or scrubbing up, and interrupts a blood-covered Chase to show him the presentation on the OR computer. He ends it by going down on one knee and asking Chase out, at which point Chase replies with a vehement “NO!” and proceeds to stab the patient in the heart with a No. 12 blade. “Why are you using a No. 12 blade?” is Dream Foreman’s reaction, to which Chase gives him a contemptuous look and tells him to fuck off. When Foreman refuses to fuck off, Chase begins coming at him with the same blade, and has to be held back by Park, who tells him an electric bone saw would be better if he wants to maim Foreman.

It’s past six by the time Foreman wakes up. Ungluing his face from the notes he fell asleep on, he checks his phone. No calls or texts. Then he stumbles to the bathroom to freshen up and try to shake off the weird dream. No way Chase would stab a patient just to spite Foreman. And if he did, it wouldn’t be with a No. 12 blade. The curved edge would make it difficult to use for stabbing purposes, as opposed to-

Foreman splashes cold water on his face. This is quite possibly the dumbest internal debate he’s ever had. And yes, that includes all the time he’s spent working with House.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” says Vivian when she sees him. She’s standing at the nurses’ station, looking harried. “Drs. Adams and Taub were supposed to be here for clinic hours, but they’re still in surgery with Dr. Chase, and we’re short-staffed. Think you can help out for a couple hours?”

“Still in surgery?” Foreman repeats.

Vivian nods, adjusting the stetho around her neck. “Yeah. Are you going to stay and help?”

“How much longer are they going to be in surgery?”

Vivian raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Dr. Foreman. I didn’t ask.”

“Fine, I’ll help,” Foreman tells her after a moment. It’ll help pass the time till Chase is free, and besides, he doesn’t really have anything better to do.

It’s close to eight by the time Foreman finally gets done. The hospital appears deserted, like it normally does at this time of night. Vivian’s gone, replaced by a yawning nurse who waves hello to Foreman when she sees him.

“Hi,” Foreman says, going up to her and suppressing the urge to yawn as well. “Any idea if Dr. Chase is done with surgery?” 

She shrugs. “No idea, I just got here. Would you like me to page him for you?”

“No, it’s fine, thanks,” he tells her, and gives her a tight smile before heading towards the elevators. It’s been an entire day, and his head is spinning at this point, and he just wants to get it done with. If Chase is in the OR, Foreman’s just going to have to interrupt and hope he doesn’t get stabbed by a No. 12 or maimed by a bone saw.

The OR nurses tell him that the surgery ended just half an hour earlier, so Foreman decides to go to Diagnostics. Chase should be done showering and changing out of his scrubs by now.

On a whim, though, Foreman turns and returns to the elevator. He goes down to the cafeteria, orders two coffees, and then heads back up. He’s so exhausted he can’t stop yawning, and he’d really like to have this conversation without giving Chase a view of his tonsils. Besides, Chase is probably tired and in need of caffeination as well.

He doesn’t see him immediately when he turns towards Diagnostics, but Chase’s bag is still by his desk, and his jacket is slung over the back of it. Foreman finds him on the balcony, appearing half-asleep as he leans against the railing.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Chase blinks, and perks up a little when he sees the coffee Foreman’s holding out. “God, what would I do without you?” he murmurs fervently, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. 

“Long day, huh,” Foreman says, coming to stand next to Chase.

“You don’t even know,” Chase says, taking a sip and then wincing at the temperature. “Are you all right, by the way? You were a bit odd yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Foreman answers automatically. “Just remembered something urgent.”

Chase nods, accepting this explanation, and then takes another sip of the coffee. “God, that’s hot.”

“Coffee usually is,” Foreman tells him wryly. “What took so long, anyway?”

Chase grimaces. “Couldn’t intubate her,” he replies. “Turner tried oral and nasal both and he just couldn’t get past the pharynx.”

“Tonsilitis?”

“Yeah. Had to do a tracheostomy. And then, well, setting up bypass, and then open heart surgery… you know how it is.”

Foreman nods. “Yeah.” He takes a sip of his own coffee.

It’s nice out here, pleasant. There’s a light breeze, and it’s warm enough that neither of them need their coats. In a few more weeks, it’ll be summer again.

It has been almost nine months since House and Wilson left. Since Foreman began spending more time with Chase. It feels like an age, and simultaneously, like nothing more than a moment. In the grand scheme of things, Foreman knows it’s not too much time at all.

It’s more than enough for him to be sure, though. 

“Why are you still here, anyway?” Chase asks him, turning to look at him. “It’s late, Foreman, shouldn’t you be home?”

“Took over for Taub and Adams in the clinics,” Foreman tells him. 

“You came back to cover for them?” Chase asks, frowning.

“No, I never left,” Foreman answers. He’s hyper-conscious of how close they’re standing to each other, despite the ample amount of space on the balcony.

“Why not?” Chase asks.

“Wanted to talk to you,” Foreman tells him, steeling himself. This is it. The Conversation that’s going to define their relationship, and possibly also Foreman’s sexual orientation.

“What about?” Chase looks thoughtful. “If it’s about the patient - I’d suspected SCAD, I was gonna scan for it, even though Taub insisted it’s unstable angina and Park said it’s MVP with regurgitation. And anyway, we were ready for it, and she’s doing fine now, I just went down to see her some time ago-”

Foreman kisses him.

Chase freezes. For one horrible second, Foreman thinks he’s messed up, that Chase is going to push him away, maybe punch him in the mouth or throw him off the balcony, or stab him with a No. 12 blade-

But then Chase kisses back, hesitantly at first, and his free hand grabs a fistful of Foreman’s blazer, so Foreman puts his hand on Chase’s face, deepens the kiss, and now there’s tongue, now Chase seems more sure of himself, and his mouth is soft and wet under Foreman’s-

Foreman reaches up with his other hand, intending to hold Chase’s face - and then yelps, springing back. He’s entirely forgotten that they’re both still carrying coffee, and now he’s managed to spill it all over his hand and arm, and also, it seems, Chase’s chest.

“Fuck, that is _hot_ , was it made in a _volcano_ or something-” Chase is cursing, putting his own coffee down on the railing and trying to peel his shirt off his skin.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, shit-” Foreman is panicking a little - no, a lot - now, and before he can stop to think he rushes back into the conference room, grabs a wad of tissue, and returns to Chase.

“Thanks,” Chase says, trying to wipe down his shirt. He’s managed to get most of it off, but there’s a darkening brown stain on the light blue material, and Foreman grimaces.

“I don’t think that’s going to come out,” he tells Chase. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

Chase nods, sighing as he gives up the shirt as a bad job. “Yeah. You?”

Foreman shakes off his arm, wipes coffee off his skin, and then sighs too. “Yeah. This is not coming out either.”

Chase laughs, sounding a little nervous. “Kinda disastrous, huh?”

Foreman grimaces again, shaking his head and looking away.

“Where did that come from, anyway?” Chase asks. He’s still standing entirely too close to Foreman.

“Been wanting to do it a while,” Foreman admits finally. He looks at Chase. “That’s kind of why I freaked out on you yesterday.”

“Was scalding us part of the plan?” Chase asks. He’s grinning.

Foreman shakes his head. “No,” he answers ruefully. “I did consider making a PowerPoint presentation though.”

Not surprisingly, Chase makes a face at that. “Yeah, no, that would not have worked,” he tells Foreman, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“And this did?” Foreman asks. His heart is beating so fast he can hear it in his ears. If this goes on for a few more minutes, he might end up needing open heart surgery too.

He hopes he’s easier to intubate.

The No. 12 blade flashes in his mind, and he suppresses a shudder. God, his brain is all over the place, and it’s all Chase’s fault-

“Yeah, it worked,” Chase says, and grins wider.

Foreman lets out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he says, and leans in for another kiss. This time, Chase doesn’t freeze or hesitate - he goes all in, grabbing the lapels of Foreman’s blazer with both hands, and kisses back with everything he’s got.

Foreman thinks he finally understands why the entire hospital talks about Chase’s personal life so much. The rumors still don’t have anything on reality, though - no one, as far as Foreman knows, has mentioned how absolutely phenomenal Chase is at kissing.

“It’s not fair,” he tells Chase when they finally come up for air.

“What’s not fair?” Chase asks.

“You can’t be good at _everything_ ,” Foreman informs him. “It’s just… not fair.”

“I’m absolute garbage at billiards,” Chase tells him after a thoughtful moment. “Does that make you feel better?”

“A little bit,” Foreman admits, smiling.

“This is nauseating,” comes Taub’s voice from the entrance to the balcony, and they both freeze. He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, and it looks like he’s been there for a while.

“You little fuck,” Chase says, looking outraged.

“How long have you been standing there?” Foreman demands, glaring.

“Since I heard yelling and came to see what’s going on,” Taub informs them. “Real smooth move, by the way,” he adds to Foreman.

Foreman continues glaring even as he finally steps away from Chase. Chase is frowning, looking thoughtfully at Taub. “This doesn’t surprise you?” he asks after a few moments.

Taub shakes his head. “No, it does not. In fact, I was betting on it.”

Chase turns to Foreman. “You knew this?”

“I knew there was a bet,” Foreman admits. “But I ignored it, because I’d hoped they’d found something else to amuse themselves with.” He ends the sentence by glaring some more at Taub.

Taub, however, is totally unaffected. “Thank you for proving me right,” he tells both Chase and Foreman. “There’s a new bottle warmer I’ve had my eye on for a while. Now I can finally go get it.”

“Wait!” comes Park’s voice, and both Foreman and Chase look up to see her standing in the conference room. Next to her, to Foreman’s intense chagrin, is Adams.

“Are you serious?” he demands. “All three of you?”

“It was quite the show,” Adams says with half a smile.

“You didn’t win the bet!” Park tells Taub. “You bet that Foreman has a thing for Chase, but they’re not dating yet. If anything, _I_ won the bet!”

“No, you didn’t,” Taub argues, “because you said that they were secretly dating, and I think it’s quite obvious that they were not.”

“What did you bet?” Chase asks Adams, looking torn between amusement and irritation.

“That you’re just friends,” she answers.

“Well, until now, we were,” Chase tells her.

“So who won the bet?” Taub asks.

All three of them turn to Foreman and Chase.

Chase throws his hands up. “Don’t involve me, I’m still considering firing all of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” dismisses Park. “What do you think, Dr. Foreman?”

“Don’t ask him, he’s going to give us clinic hours instead of answers,” Taub says before Foreman can speak. “I still think I won the bet, because I was _right_ -”

“But they’re dating!” Park cuts in. “It’s not a one-sided thing!”

“To be fair, they _just_ began,” Adams interjects.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Foreman asks Chase, as the two of them watch his team argue among themselves.

“Please,” Chase answers fervently, already halfway to getting his bag and jacket.

“They’re leaving,” Adams announces, interrupting Taub halfway.

“Good for them, I still want my money,” Taub answers, not looking away from her.

“It’s not your money-” Park begins heatedly.

They leave them to their bickering, the sounds following them all the way to the elevators. Foreman realizes he’s been smiling the entire time, and so has Chase. It doesn’t feel awkward or strange like Foreman had been worried about - they’re still them, still comfortable with each other, still rolling their eyes at Chase’s team like they always do.

“It’s Friday night,” Foreman says as they walk towards the car park. “Got plans?”

“Nah,” says Chase, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You?”

“I was thinking,” Foreman answers, “that we’ve still got to watch _The Return of the King_.”

There’s a pause. They’ve reached Chase’s Range Rover, and the two of them stop by it, but Chase makes no move to unlock it. “Pizza and a movie?” he says in the end.

“If you want,” Foreman tells him.

“Well, I’ve never said no to that,” Chase says after a moment, and grins at Foreman, “and I don’t intend to start now.” He puts his car keys back in his pocket.

“Good,” says Foreman, and they resume the walk towards Foreman’s car.

Foreman is making breakfast the next morning when Chase wanders into the kitchen, yawning. He’s wearing his boxers and one of Foreman’s button-up shirts. It’s too big on him, the sleeves almost covering his hands, and the hem coming down to mid-thigh.

“Morning,” Foreman greets.

Chase mutters something unintelligible and then sits down gingerly in one of the chairs. “Coffee,” he mumbles.

Foreman puts a mug down in front of him. It’s a lot like the first time Chase had stayed over - but also incredibly different, in all the best ways. The hickey peeking out from under Chase’s collar is proof of that.

“Omelet?” Foreman asks.

“Yes, please,” Chase replies, and then takes a sip of his coffee.

They eat in comfortable, companionable silence for a few minutes. Foreman keeps looking up, just to find Chase looking at him too, and then they grin and go back to their food. In the living-room, the movie is still paused at the ten-minute mark, which is when they’d stopped pretending they were paying attention to it.

“So,” Foreman says, finishing his omelet and taking a sip of his coffee. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

“Thinking about staying in,” Chase answers. “What do you think?”

“Fine by me,” Foreman says, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've come this far, thank you! please let me know what you thought of it in the comments <3
> 
> medical terms:  
> 4D CT - four-dimensional computerized tomography. basically the same as a regular CT except it allows you to see organs functioning in real-time (the fourth dimension is time)  
> beta-blocker - a type of drug used to treat hypertension  
> SCAD - spontaneous coronary artery dissection. presents primarily with chest pain, and is more likely to happen to women than men. especially women who have recently given birth, though it can be set off with overexertion as well.  
> unstable angina - a heart condition characterized by spontaneous chest pain that occurs even without physical or psychological stress but is exacerbated by it  
> MVP - mitral valve prolapse, a congenital structural defect in the bicuspid valve of the heart
> 
> thank you again for reading! come talk to me about house md (or supernatural, if that's your thing too) over on tumblr @[thelegendofwinchester](http://chesterbennington.co.vu)!
> 
> love,  
> remy


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